


Omniscience is Overrated

by ohdrey89



Series: Deductive Deviations [26]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF Lestrade, Biting, Bottom Mycroft, Coming Untouched, Desk Sex, Dom Greg Lestrade, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Headspace, Humiliation, Leather Jackets, Leather Trousers, Light BDSM, M/M, Mycroft IS the British Government, Mycroft-centric, Office Sex, POV Mycroft Holmes, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostate Massage, Silver Fox Lestrade, Spanking, Subdrop, Submission, Top Greg, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 19:27:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7235548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohdrey89/pseuds/ohdrey89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or How Greg Lestrade Thwarted Mycroft's Power & Influence, And How Mycroft Holmes Discovered That This Really Isn't a Bad Thing. </p><p>———</p><p> </p><p>  <em>Even Mycroft could concede that sometimes not knowing everything could be to his benefit. At least in this.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Omniscience is Overrated

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShezzasCompanion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShezzasCompanion/gifts).



> ShezzasCompanion asked for some Mystrade office porn, so that’s what she’s going to get. She threw down the gauntlet. I’m never not one to step down from a challenge or rather an opportunity to be expressly filthy. So she can enjoy it now. 
> 
> This is my attempt to cheer her up. Feel better, babe!
> 
> Let's be honest, when friends like giving me ideas, it's to the benefit of all of you! Enjoy! I know I did!
> 
> Disclaimer: We didn't create it, we're not making money from it. But that's not going to stop the ideas from coming, so here we all are anyway. We might as well live.

———

From within the clean, secure halls of the upper floors of Whitehall, the sun shone in through the windows catching dust as finely coiffed women moved through the beams of light carrying files, tablets, and coffee through the halls from office to office. Their pace always quick, their actions smooth and prompt. Protecting the government and the country from destruction from minute to minute was a tedious business that required the inner workings of this place to run like a well-oiled machine, as all the men and women worked to keep the country from tipping into catastrophe on the razor sharp tension of a sword’s edge. The knight wielding this sword was the ever present unwavering Mycroft Holmes.

There was once a time where Mycroft would have answered directly to the queen, and he still did after a fashion, but now he moved with more latitude than he would have ever been allowed before in Great Britain’s history. It was to his advantage, as Mycroft Holmes was not a man to concede his control. He maintained the strictest control in fact of all the comings and goings of this building. There was nothing this man did not know about. There was no one who could move or make maneuvers without Mycroft Holmes finding out about it, or without him seeming to read your mind when he would confront you. His almost super human capabilities were widely known, and there were too many people who feared him to cross his path. Frankly, everyone within Whitehall thought the Queen and country were lucky Mycroft was on their side and that the art of political strategy entertained his vast intellect.

Often people wondered to whom Mycroft Holmes did secede his control to, if not the Queen. The man didn’t seem to have many indulgences, at least nothing his colleagues or underlings could gossip about. How this man released tension was a point of great amounts of gossip. His assistant Anthea was as tight-lipped as he was reticent. When asked, she would simply look up from her phone, dimple a smile at whomever inquired and walk away, the gossip monger would be replaced never to be seen from again. Employees learned rather quickly, to gossip was deadly. Loose lips would not sink Mycroft’s well-maintained ship.

So it was a very large surprise when Mr. Holmes began to receive texts on his personal mobile at the oddest of times. He never answered it during meetings with dignitaries but that didn’t stop his employees from noticing the subtle vibrations coming from his suit pockets, the tightness of his expressions when it would happen. They learned to observe these subtleties as he never gave anything away. So it was always a surprise when he did. There was someone or something out there that put a crack in the ironclad armor of Mycroft Holmes, and mysteries abounded as to whom or what it was, but their curiosity would never be quenched.

It was one of these unexpected texts that came onto Mycroft’s mobile mid-morning. It was a Tuesday. Nothing of note, except the weekly budgetary committee meeting and Mycroft never canceled those appointments or moved his schedule. But this day he did.

Mycroft looked to his mobile with a raised eyebrow. Mycroft was just happy the door to his office was closed. No one was there to hear the sharp intake of air he really couldn’t help.

_I will be inside your office in 15 minutes. Cancel what you have to, excuse whomever you have to…_

_Clear your schedule. This is a non-negotiable, pet. —Greg_

“Anthea.” Mycroft called out for his right hand as he wiped at his mouth, suddenly tense. Trying to wipe away all traces of his discomposure before she came to answer his call.

“Sir.” Anthea opened the door, the only sign of her finding this odd was a subtle lift of her brow.

“Move my eleven-fifteen to this afternoon.” Mycroft bid her.

“Sir?” Anthea questioned, her face turned to her phone already to see to the rearranging of his schedule.

“Do what you have to, my dear. I’m expecting a visit… an _unexpected_ visit.” Mycroft explained, vaguely. He looked to Anthea with a pointed look. He was grateful that all Anthea did was nod in understanding. A more indiscreet assistant would smirk.

“Of course, sir. I’ll take care of it.” Anthea excused herself. He didn’t quite know what that meant but he mentally prepared himself for what the implications were that Greg Lestrade decided to visit now of all times. They had been together for well over a year. Their sexual relationship had proved to be most… enlightening. One could only guess what the Detective Inspector had planned today.

Mycroft rubbed his finger over the screen as he read over the messages again. _Pet._ His lover had invoked the one word that sent chills up Mycroft’s spine and his gut was already churning with anticipation. What did he mean by doing this? Greg and he never crossed this sort of boundary at the office, or at NSY. It just wasn’t done. Both of their careers were too heavily based in appearances to do something as risky as this.

The man didn’t have much room to contemplate the vast reaches of his lover’s brain when the door to office wooshed open and then was resoundedly slammed shut. Mycroft couldn’t help his jaw dropping in surprise as he saw what was before him.

Greg Lestrade stood before him entirely in motorcycle leathers, boots and his hair spiked and askew as if he had recently run his fingers through it after having it under a helmet. It was the one thing he had kept from his divorce. Mycroft had indulgently fetched Greg’s bike from the ex-wife. It was as much a gift to himself to see look on the man’s face when he showed the bike to Greg as it was for Greg to receive it, knowing what trouble Mycroft went through to get it back to his lover. Now it seemed Mycroft was reaping the gifts of his own due diligence. Most assuredly.

Greg eyed Mycroft with a lick of his lips, brown eyes dancing with arousal, as he began to remove his leather gloves and tossed the helmet he just noticed into one of the chairs that sat across from Mycroft’s seat at his desk. Mycroft really hoped Greg hadn’t ridden to Whitehall like that. There’d be no way to keep their relationship private after that. “Stand up.”

“Greg…” Mycroft looked to the door, showing the worry on his face very clearly for his partner. The only man in this entire world for whom Mycroft dropped his guard. Greg hardened his face, his deep brown eyes darkening further, as he took a step towards Mycroft, not so much a step as a prowl. He licked his lips and Mycroft felt his heart begin to race and his respiration increase. How did manage Greg do that?

“Did I stutter, pet? I believe that was an order, not a request.” Greg demanded impatiently as his voice lowered, coming around to stand before Mycroft turning the chair to face him.

“But Greg… Someone c—” Mycroft was trying to beg now. Something, anything but this. Not now, not here where people could hear, someone could come in. He’d do anything for Greg, to Greg, anything but what he was asking Mycroft to do right now. Another step, and Mycroft closed his eyes against the tremors that crawled up his legs from where he could feel the heat of Greg’s leg that now stood between them.

“I told you. You don’t get to negotiate. Stand. Up.” Mycroft didn’t want to acknowledge how fast he stood up when Greg used _that_ voice. The way his voice would turn threatening, barely anything beyond a rumbling growl deep in his chest that would demand Mycroft’s limbs to comply without his logic’s consent. It was always rather confusing and served to further throw the man off balance, to cede control to the delectable man before him.

Mycroft stood before his desk, the room around him felt unrecognizable even though he could identify everything within the room as familiar. He was somewhere else in that moment, he had given up control and surrendered. He was no longer Mycroft Holmes, commander of Whitehall and mighty knight controlling the movement of all of the other pieces upon the chessboard where only he knew the rules of the game. Now he was simply Pet, and submissive to Greg’s every whim.

“There he is… That’s right. There’s my good boy.” Greg rumbled with pleasure as he finally felt the tension release from Mycroft’s body. A gentle hand to the back of Mycroft’s neck, a squeeze and Mycroft felt the last shreds of controlled tension flow away, like the shedding of a second skin.

“Greg—I…” Mycroft tried once again as he felt his back sweat from nervous anticipation.

“Shhh…” Greg cooed pressing kisses to Mycroft’s neck. “It’s alright. I know you’re nervous. I’ll take care of you.” Greg assured, pressing his hands into Mycroft’s hips. Greg smirked into the skin under his lips as the goosebumps rose and Mycroft whimpered under the pressure of Greg’s wide blunt finger tips. “Now bend over.” Another demand that Mycroft simply followed. He eyed the mahogany under his vision, the polish reflecting the blurred recessed lights in the ceiling.

Mycroft reached out to scrape his hands on the surface of his desk, searching for a hand hole that wasn’t there. He vacantly heard the echoing thumps of the folders, papers, and desk weights falling off of his desk. But he didn’t seem to care as Greg tossed his jacket back to reveal Mycroft’s luscious trouser clad ass for his own perusal. “Look at this, all for me.” A rumbled chuckle made Mycroft squirm on the desk. Greg always knew just what to say. He could feel the difference in his face against the cool veneer, the condensation rising from the heat of his embarrassment. That only made the feeling worse as Greg’s hands wormed to the front of his trousers to his aching arousal. “If only they could see you like this, like I get to. What do you think they’d say?” Greg inquired as he ran his hands up and down Mycroft’s clothed cock. A gasp fell from his lips as the other man’s leather clad cock thrust against his ass. “Do you think they can hear you and how desperate you are? How you’re just gaggin for it?” A squeeze to his cock and Mycroft couldn’t be silent any more as he moaned, grinding his hips back up against the Greg’s unable to keep himself from doing it. Greg groaned, reaching up to Mycroft’s neck to pull back his shirt collar and bit down onto the skin he exposed.

“Fuck!” Mycroft cried out, scrambling as he was unprepared for that. Greg used the distraction to expose Mycroft’s ass from the confines of fabric.

“I do love making you shout like that.” Greg sneered as he lifted himself off of his lover to spread his cheeks revealing his furled entrance. “It’s time to put this hole to some good use today.” Greg sneered. Mycroft could hear the smirk in his voice. “You’re so desperate for my cock, slut, that I bet it won’t take any time at all to work you open.” The brought another moan rising out of Mycroft’s chest. He looked down and saw the wet patch growing on his pants. The shame worked to turn him on even more. “I could do it on spit alone,” Greg lifted an eyebrow in consideration. Mycroft was always one to like it a bit rough. “But lucky for you I came prepared.” Greg announced tossing the packets of lube and condom onto the surface of the desk. He shoved Mycroft’s pants as far as he could and opened the lube. Greg gave no warning as we worked two fingers into Mycroft, and had to fight back the moan as the man’s body gave way immediately to the intrusion and began to pulse around his fingers.

Greg made quick work of scissoring his fingers and working the lube into Mycroft’s hole. “Greg!” Mycroft cried out when Greg’s questing digits found his prostate. He rode the fingers in a desperate bid to plead for more. “Please!”

“Easy… Easy. You’ll get it. When I’m ready to give it to you.” Greg growled, teasing brushes further over Mycroft’s prostate. He always found ways of driving Mycroft to the absolute depths of desperation no one else has ever been capable. He stilled Mycroft’s hips as he removed his fingers. With a tremble, Mycroft listened to Greg patiently moved through the motions of sheathing his cock and coating himself in lube. It was utter agony but it coiled the pleasure deep within his gut and let it simmer with the anticipation that burned through his nerves.

Mycroft whimpered when he felt the tip of Greg’s cock touch his hole. “Oh God…” Mycroft breathed against the desk.

“Do you want it?” Greg questioned digging his blunt fingertips into Mycroft’s hips to keep them still.

“Yes.” Mycroft breathed the promise into the air of the room. He would always want this, always. Even if it meant the end of his career. He would always want this.

“Then beg for it.” Greg demanded running his cock teasingly from the cleft of Mycroft’s ass down to the edge of his balls and back up over and over again. It was maddening.

“Please! Greg…. Please. I need it.” Mycroft whispered, barely audible, his cheeks aflame.

“Louder. Let me know how much you want it Mycroft or I’ll stop.” Greg warned in a growl, reaching down with his hand to grasp at Mycroft’s aching cock and circling his hole in torturously slow circles.

“Please!” Mycroft cried out. He couldn’t hold himself in anymore as his hips flexed with the motions of Greg’s hand on his cock. “I want it— you cock— I want— I need— Please!!!” Mycroft begged, the sound of it echoing off the walls of the room.

“ _Fuck_ —” Greg bit out in awe of the man below him, following Greg’s every command. And without ceremony, Greg bottomed out inside Mycroft in one solid, hard thrust. They moaned together as Greg sheathed himself inside Mycroft’s heat. It was so much and always so good all at once.

“Greg—” Mycroft cried, rolling his hips to plead silently for more.

“Shhh… It’s alright, pet, I know what you need. I’m going to give it to you. Right. Now.” Greg punctuated his acknowledgement with two hard thrusts that singed across Mycroft’s prostate before setting into a brutally delicious rhythm. This wasn’t going to end slowly. Greg had already kept the both of them so on edge. With every hard snap of his hips he brought Mycroft further and further to the crest of his pleasure. Mycroft moaned with every time Greg’s cock brushed across his prostate, and each one earned him a slap that blazed pleasure up his spine and fanned the blush across his cheeks down his neck. He knew could be heard from the other side of the door and the humiliation made him cry out as the pleasure mounted. Each slap only served to tighten his hole around Greg’s cock, making the man thrusts more vicious. “Aw, fuck. Yeah! You gonna cum for me? Just on my cock, hm? I can feel it. You’re such a fucking glutton for it, aren’t you?” Mycroft felt his balls draw up as he felt his orgasm build. He reached out with his foot to tuck it behind Greg’s ankle, a small little affection that almost made the dominant man lose his rhythm. Greg growled out, tightening his fist into the fabric of Mycroft’s shirt wrinkling it irreparably. Greg grumbled a laugh as he leaned down to growl into Mycroft’s ear, intimate and inescapable. “They can probably hear you, ya know. Hear us. Hear us fucking. The way your ass sounds when I slap it. Do you think they’ll remember what you sound like when you come? They should. It’s my favorite part.” Mycroft moaned as he churned his hips wantonly so that Greg’s cock continued to hit his prostate as the tension reached its peak. He just needed a little bit more. Greg chose that moment to flick Mycroft’s nipples and lick along the shell of Mycroft’s ear to tug on the lobe. “Cum for me.” He breathed into Mycroft’s ear. His breath sent chills down Mycroft’s spine that ignited his orgasm like a fuse to dynamite. It crashed over Mycroft suddenly as he cried out, hips stuttering back onto Greg’s thrusts. Greg moaned against the vice grip Mycroft had on his cock as he jackhammered his hips into his lover three more times before stilling with his head thrown back, well-muscled, tanned neck flexed as he growled riding out his own orgasm. While Mycroft quaked and moaned, his hips sputtered and came to a standstill.

“Thank you.” Mycroft moaned into the air, rubbing his head against the cool surface of the desk.

“You’re welcome.” Greg petted along Mycroft’s spine as he moved to pull put. When Mycroft reached back to stop him with a hiss, Greg shushed his protests. “Easy… You’re alright. I’ve got you luv, I’ve always got ya.” Greg cooed, pulling himself free. He made quick work of cleaning himself off then setting Mycroft to rights before easing his lover off of the desk surface.

Mycroft eyed his partner as the man straightened his attire. “What was that about?” Mycroft wondered out loud, watching the motions of Greg’s tanned hands.

“Oh nothing in particular, I just felt like giving you a little treat. Well, myself as well, but mostly you.” Greg smirked. The cheeky grin and his spiky hair all awry almost served to undo Mycroft’s composure all over again. Greg leaned in, cupping Mycroft’s cheek with one hand, wiping at the blush that still remained with a broad thumb. “I’ll see you at home tonight.” Greg smiled before leaning in to steal a kiss from the man before him.

Greg turned around and left Mycroft standing behind his desk, papers and things scattered along the tiled floor to show that the office was in fact completely empty. As if Greg had planned it that way the whole time.

Mycroft had barely enough time to regain him composure and clean up his office before Anthea came back into his office. “Did you enjoy your visit from the Detective Inspector, sir?” Anthea questioned with a dimpled smile, putting a sandwich, crisps and tea before him.

“Sorry?” Mycroft questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“You told me you expected the detective inspector this morning, I gave everyone in the office an extended lunch per your orders sir. Did you enjoy yourself?” Anthea questioned, one again typing on her phone.

“I never said it was going to be the detective inspector.” Mycroft lifted an eyebrow to his assistant.

“Of course, sir. But he did.” Anthea dimpled meeting his eye knowingly before exiting his office.

“Huh.” Mycroft called out into the office. Apparently, his lover and assistant exchanged information when he wasn’t looking. He’d have to make a mental note to consider giving her a rise. Anyone who operated with such discretion was well deserving of it. Especially if she could conspire to assist his boyfriend in arranging work day assignations and keep it a secret, even from himself. Even Mycroft could concede that sometimes not knowing everything could be to his benefit. At least in this.

———

**Author's Note:**

> God Lestrade is gorgeous. He does make this worth it. I bet Mycroft thinks so too! The vision of Lestrade in motorcycle leathers haunts me, almost as much as it does Mycroft, and I can't seem to get away from it. Somehow I don't think you guys would mind.
> 
> I hope you liked this as much as I enjoyed making it! So delicious. Now back to your regularly scheduled programming.
> 
> Comments and Kudos are our currency of love, spread the wealth around.


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